When Love Is More Foolish Than Mortals
by Impossible Cherry Blossom
Summary: Helena is only acting in love with Demetrius and the fairies can tell. Bottom is in way over his head. Femmslash and slight slash, rated T but might be a bit higher for language  I'm not sure how to rate these things  Told from multiple perspectives.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I've always been told that Shakespeare is timeless, thus the language in this story is neither modern nor Elizabethan. The perspective shifts periodically, sometimes on the chapter mark, sometimes not. Perspective is written in Italics. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so any reviews are really appreciated. Please enjoy, and thanks so much for reading. **

_Helena_

The entire city of Athens thinks I'm head-over-heels in love with Demetrius, which is exactly what I want them to think. "Oh, sweet Helena." they say, "See how she fawns on him. See how she dotes and mourns his indifference. Of course, it's completely hopeless, he loves only Hermia, who in turn despises him. The state of love these days!"

Sometimes I wish I were in love with Demetrius. I half-hope that if I keep this up long enough, I will become the part I play. Demetrius is a complete twit, not to mention about as attractive as a slug, but to be truly in love with him would simplify a lot of potential problems.

Of course, it is not idly that I play this part, nor is it simply for the sake of my own amusement. To be unrequited in love and cluelessly fawning nonetheless causes much discussion around town, but this discussion is expected, it's safe. There is no shame in loving a man who loves not you. Shame would be in the truth. Shame would be being in what is called the prime of my youth and not remotely interested in any suitor my father shows me. Deeper shame would be...would be...something I dare not name because if I refuse to acknowledge it perhaps it will not exist.

I walk around the gardens of the palace, hoping that I can find a place to sit and pretend to cease to exist. In this way I attempt to escape my head, my thoughts. Mostly I fail. Before I am able to find a suitably quiet corner, I am caught by a page who tells me the Duke wishes my presence. Instantly my stomach feels shaky, as when you are young and a teacher asks you to stay after class and you've no idea why. The rational side of me knows that no one, not even Theseus, could possibly know of my thoughts or see through my ruse. He probably wants a witness or perhaps advice on gifts for his betrothed, who I know well for she resides at my father's house until the day of their wedding. Yet knowing this, I still fear. I fear that he has somehow has found out and plans to punish me. This fear only intensifies as I reach the palace room and find my all those closest to me standing in the room. Here is Lysander, with whom Hermia is in love, Demetrius, with whom I act in love, Egeus, who is father to Hermia and guardian of me as my father died these three years past, and finally Hermia. Hermia who I've known all my life, my closest friend. Hermia who some two years past became beautiful, with hair down to her waist that glows in the sun and eyes the color of grass reflecting the sun. Hermia who I absolutely must stop thinking about right now...SHUT UP BRAIN. Fortunately I am forced to stop thinking by the Duke, who greets me without anger, which I take as a good sign. As it turns out, I have been called to answer some questions on my friends. I am sure relief is visible on my face and steady myself, making it out so that this was what I expected all along.

"Is Hermia, who shares every secret with you, in love with Lysander?" asks Theseus.

"Yes, sir." At least, that is what I have been told. That is what I see in her eyes whenever she looks at him, and while I once idly hoped she was simply acting, as I am, I know her well enough to know that she has always been horrible at lying.

"Has Demetrius ever pledged his love to you?"

"Yes, sir, some six months past." I insure my voice cracks and warbles as I say this. That way they will hear the cracks and think they hear my heart cracking.

"That is all. Thanks, good Helena."

"I am most honored to be of service, my lord." I reply with a deep curtsy and turn out of the room, avoiding Hermia's eyes at all costs. I flee back to the garden, back to the safety of silence and solitude.


	2. Chapter 2

_Helena_

Unfortunately for me, the garden did not remain silent for long. Fleeting minutes later I hear the sound of footsteps and giggles of voices all-too recognisable. Here comes Hermia and Lysander. I am unable to duck off the path before they see me.

"How now fair Helena, wither away?" Hermia's voice stops me in my tracks, then I turn, realizing that if I act as I truly am I shall give something away and so resort to acting a Demetrius-obsessed fool. Today this involves going on a long-winded, self-deprecating, primarily one-sided angsty conversation begging Hermia to reveal how she keeps Demetrius in love with her. I expected this conversation to be completely fruitless in every regard and so look forward to it ending when Hermia says, "Take comfort, he shall never see me more. Lysander and I will flee to through the woods beyond the city limits and so get married without my father's consent. Farewell, sweet friend, and with good luck you shall have your Demetrius." In a similar manner Lysander bid me adieu and in parting Hermia kissed my lips. I nearly fell over from shock and emotion, quickly recovering so they wouldn't notice. This proved to be unnecessary, as, as usual, the two lovebirds were so engrossed in each other that they wouldn't have noticed had I suddenly sprouted wings and flown in front of them.

How happy some or other some can be.

Others of us, however, can only watch as a boy takes away their best friend. Yet as much as I tried to convince myself that that's all Hermia is to me-a best friend-it was becoming increasingly difficult to to do so. I had noticed months ago that upon seeing her my heart skipped a beat, that I was always somewhat anxious around her, anxious I might upset or displease her, and of course I saw she was beautiful. Who could not? These were the thoughts I was running from, this the potential shame I covered with the ruse concerning Demetrius. I hadn't ever fully realized them before, so I guess I was more successful at running from my own thought than I knew. It all would have been fine. Really, I would have let her walk away, would have never seen her again, but she kissed me. She kissed me in the most platonic of manners and yet with that kiss all the emotion and thoughts of her I had been ignoring rushed through my head. With that ever-brief kiss I sprouted wings and flew away. Thus, in that moment, I knew I was hopelessly in love with her, and no amount of mental persuasion otherwise could occur. In that moment, I knew I must at least tell her before she left me for good.

This provided somewhat of a challenge. She was going to be packing, "praying in solitude" she told her father, until the night of her departure. I could not see her before then. I could also not simply follow her into the forest, as Lysander would never leave her side, and I was loathe to profess my love of Hermia to her boyfriend. That seemed like a wonderful idea should I wish to killed. I needed some way of forcing Lysander away from her, some distraction...some challenge. Challenge provided distraction, and who better to challenge the love of Hermia than that obnoxious, self-entitling bastard I was "fawning over." I jest not in saying that an unassuming cobblestone could prompt a duel out of him. With this I cemented my plan. I would tell Demetrius of their flight as they were fleeing. In this way, instead of warning her father against it, he would pursue them, and I, true to my part, would claim love bid me follow him. In this manner, the four of us would be in the forest alone together

It was a perfect plan.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bottom_

Good Peter Quince, by far the most organized of any in our party, heard the Duke would be requiring entertainment on his wedding night, the Duke's I mean, not Quince's, and as no traveling players were due to arrive in town, would happily see any plays put on by citizens of Athens.

It was the first glimpse of fortune any of us had seen in a long time.

Consequently we had gathered under the awning on the side of our favorite inn and set about discussing roles and collecting scripts. At least, that's what we were attempting to do. Presently, we were mostly talking amongst ourselves, and Quince, in his enthusiasm, was doing naught to get our attention.

It was time I take control.

I instructed Quince to tell us what play we were to play, then call each man by name according to his role. I told everyone else, for all were nearly as excited as Quince and had clumped together most suffocatingly, to spread out a bit.

We were to play in a play. How unfathomable. How exciting. What an adventure!

Quince read out the list of names. I was to play Pyramus, a lover, so Quince said, that kills himself for love. I reassured the men, in case any be doubting, that I could do this role most brilliantly.

It is all well and good to play a lover, but as Quince continued to read the script, each role seemed more exciting than the next. A girl, a lion, a mother, a father and so on. I wished to play each of these roles and set about proving to Quince that I could do so. The men adored my performances, but Quince always shook his head and told me I must be Pyramus and no other. I was most disappointed.

Disappointed or no, we needed to rehearse. In a moment of sheer genius I suggested we do so in the wood, as in the city someone might see us and steal our play. No-one else would be in the wood towards dusk and there were plenty of clearings and fairy circles perfect for performing in. The men all agreed, and with a few last words of encouraging wisdom we parted ways.

Huzzah!


	4. Chapter 4

_Robin Goodfellow_

It is nearly twilight and I am sitting in my favorite part of the forest, where the river cascades over the side of a hill and into a clearing, slowing into a small pond before continuing through the green-light trees. A fairy comes along, a member of the queen's train, I'd say, and as she is the prettiest creature I have seen in a long while I strike up a conversation with her. The poor soul is clearly overworked beyond measure. We discuss her role and the queen for a short mark and she asks if I be Robin Goodfellow.

"I am that shrewd and knavish sprite. I jest to Oberon and make him smile..." I say in reply, and chronicle my sport for her that she may take rest from her work for a good laugh. She really is most adorable, so I flirt as much as I am up to at the moment. I too am rather overworked. My master, the king, is in a rage at present as Titania refuses to give him a changeling boy of hers to be in his henchmen. I have seen the boy and he is nothing much, really, and indeed I suspect that Oberon's just upset at not getting what he wants, for a change, but of course I keep my mouth shut.

Damn. The king and queen have both come here, to this clearing. Now. What a headache. The fairy and I quickly part ways and join our respective courts. The queen is looking as fair and fey as always, but she is angry and it shows. Likewise the king remains in a foul mood. Consequently mental darts are thrown..."You came to see your mistress marry Duke Theseus." "Aye, but you've no right to talk as I am well aware you slept with Theseus." "Why don't you just give me the child" "blah, blah, TRAGIC STORY blah..." "Give me that boy!" "Not for your fairy kingdom!" By this point I'm worried we'll actually come to blows and I am really not in the mood for a fight today. Fortunately for me, neither is the queen. "Fairies, away. We shall chide downright if I longer stay" and with that they all turn on their heals and leave, looking for all the world like runway models in a bitchy mood. Actually, that pretty much sums them up. Bitchy models.

The king begins to pace and concoct a plot when two mortals swiftly enter the clearing, first a grouchy-looking, sweaty and thoroughly unattractive male. That one literally couldn't seduce a Passionflower sprite, and trust me; ANYTHING can seduce passionflowers, including wart-encrusted toads. The girl, on the other hand, is radiant. The red hair of the Norse falls to her waist and her eyes are as blue as the daybreak sky. She has the air about her of someone who doesn't know they're beautiful. I've honestly no idea why she's following this guy. Talk about setting the bar low.


	5. Chapter 5

_Helena_

Everything had gone to plan. Demetrius was furious, we made our way to the forest, I just sort of followed him...all according to plan. The only problem was that we had yet to find Hermia or Lysander. I really should have thought of that, actually. I should have said to myself "this is a large forest and we've no idea where they're headed once in it." I failed to do so. Consequently, here I am, following a Demetrius _like a fucking dog_ in a forest with god-knows-what living in it as the sun goes down. Honestly, first-class idiot speaking here.

I hate myself right now. Once again, _once again_, I thought only with my emotions and not with my brain. She loves Lysander, who am I to mess that up? I brought Demetrius here. Demetrius, who she hates even more than I, if such a thing is possible. Perhaps if I tell her this she will never speak to me again, she'll hate me, or something.

In my emotional turmoil and self-fury I really lather on the "I'm in love with you, Demetrius." act, even though there's no one around. Probably self-punishment. I'm literally gagging on half the words that came out of my mouth.

I'm such an idiot.

_Demetrius_

I'm not an idiot.

I know Helena isn't in love with me. It's not hard to miss, as when a girl is actually in love with you, she normally is a shy thing, too scared of embarrassment in front of you to speak, much less do, much. The exceptions are those who are so self-confident and grounded in themselves that they posses no doubt and no shame, and I've known Helena since we were both twelve. It is no false modesty when she blinks at compliments, she really does not see that she is beautiful, and intelligent and kind. I feel sorry for the poor girl, really. Knowing the fawning love is an act, I've known for some time that she must be in love with someone else, why else would she create this cover? Only, I'd no idea who, until she told me of my Hermia's flight. Why would she betray her friend in such a manner, lest she be in love with Lysander? I only hope we can find them both in this forest. It would make us both happy, her with her Lysander and me with my Hermia. Hermia is promised me, and furthermore I am so enamored of her that it nearly blinds me at times.

Despite my act of hating Helena, I really do wish her happiness. We were all friends once, Helena, Hermia, Lysander and I. Love is cruel when it harms friendship so much as this.


	6. Chapter 6

_Robin Goodfellow_

"Observe, good Puck. My master whispers to me as the humans pass us. Look into her heart."

"She does not love him, Master. She doesn't even like him."

"Quite so, my servant. I wonder who she does love, why she would put up such a ruse. Perhaps we can find out." He had on a grin of such deep amusement and self-satisfaction that I knew he had some mischief planned.

"What have you in mind, my king?"

"Robin, tonight we will both gain our revenge on my queen and have some fun with these mortals."

I smiled. It was going to be a good night.

"Fetch me the flower, the herb I showed you once, which when laid on the sleeping eyelids of my queen will cause her to fall madly in love with the next living creature that she sees."

I was unable to contain my laughter at this. My master is a wise trickster. I am proud for I have taught him myself. When we met, impossibly long ago, to watch the earth form, he had not a humorous bone in him. I am his servant and his teacher.

"And," he continued, "near that flower grows a white flower, akin to a lily, that shall cause the maids true love to remember the love he bears her. Quickly, Robin. The night is yet young but shall not remain my so."

"Aye, master. Ill put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes!" With that, I was soaring impossibly fast around the globe. To find the flowers, I repeated in my head, I must find the flowers.

**Author's Note: Anyone see subtle the Imagine Me and You reference? **


	7. Chapter 7

_Bottom_

We met in a most gorgeous clearing to rehearse our play. In all honesty, I was a touch late, but it mattered not as Quince was unable to keep control of the men without me. So we began our rehearsal and all was going well. We worked out certain logistical issues, such as how to manage a wall in the chamber, and the moon, and to insure that the lion frightened not the ladies. Afterwords I took the stage of sorts, a rocky outcrop with a perfectly flat top, and spoke my first speech. Other than a few, shall we say, confused words, it was clear that the men thought as highly of my speech as I did. So I went offstage to await my cue. I was so tired, all of a sudden. I thought I'd just close my eyes for a short while...

_Robin Goodfellow_

I was returning to my Master with the flower to cause sudden love for use on the fairy queen. To do so I was, in fact, passing Titania's bower when I noticed something strange. Often, at this point in the night, the portion in which the queen settles in for one of her naps, the bower is empty but for a few fairy guards. Tonight, however, her bower was filled with mortals. I stopped to take a closer look. In doing so, I confirmed that, indeed, the queen and her train were there, oblivious to the mortals. These were mortals of the roughest cut, men who no doubt labored in Athens, rehearsing about a play for what seemed to be the first time...the first time they'd read since grade school, it would indeed seem. Only a few minutes watching them stumble about and I was beside myself with laughter.

What fools these mortals be.

I knew that this was the perfect opportunity to charm the eyes of the queen, causing her respite-less love with one of these swain, but first, too make the man yet more distasteful I knew I must get creative. The queen has been known to sleep with mortals on occasion. I saw a player sleeping behind a slight ledge. Perfect. I slipped over to him. His head, I thought, was his best feature. Therefore it must go. Grinning, I transformed his head into that of an ass, which looking in his heart I saw best fitted him. Hard working, egotistical, stubborn...the man was practically begging for an ass head. I then awoke him and he stumbled on to their makeshift stage, belting, "If I were fair, Thisbe, I were only thine!"

At this all his friends worked themselves into a state of hysteria, running every which way and flailing their limbs and screaming fit to wake the dead. It was honestly the best laugh I've had in a long while. Soon they had all dispersed save one, a gangly man with a pair of hedge clippers. "Bottom," he stammered, "What do I see on thee?"

This somehow incited anger in the magicked mortal. "What do you see?," he snapped, "You see an ass head of your own, do you?" he took a step toward the gangly man who in turn jumped back, shrieking in the manner you would expect of a teenage princess who had yet to see a mouse would upon waking to find the mouse on her face.

"Oh, Bottom," fear and sympathy mixed in his voice, "thou art translated!" and with that, he too, fled into the night.

My master would be most pleased indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

_Helena _

I am on the verge of giving up. Its cold, its dark, Im tired, I can't find Hermia and even if I could I rather doubt she would want to see me. I turn behind me to head back towards Athens when I notice that, in the darkness, I have left the trail and am unable to find it again. Tears of frustration stream silently down my face. Somewhere in this forest is Hermia and Lysander, happy to be together as always. Somewhere in this forest, thanks to my stupidity, is Demetrius, who in order to fulfill his demented sense of self-entitlement would stop at nothing to destroy that happiness. Somewhere in this forest, shivering under my thin dress, I lay down to sleep. Perhaps in the morning I will wake to find this all a dream, and we will all be back in Athens, all the best of friends, as we were before we all fell madly in love with Hermia. Although, by that logic, I might as well wake and find my entire life to have been a dream.

In all likelihood I will wake with a stiff back from the forest floor and a million bug bites, to find that, indeed, this is my life. I decide, as I surrender myself to sleep, not to give up hoping for something else.

_Robin Goodfellow_

I told my master of the state I left his queen in and he was most pleased. He then dispatched me to find the sleeping girl that does not love the boy. I found her, the beauty, lying asleep with her knees curled into her chest and the memories of tears staining her face. She looked so helpless, sleeping there. So helpless and so small that I was almost glad to do this, not for the fun we would have watching her, but for her own sweet sake.

As we toy with mortal lives for our own amusement we sometimes forget that, to the mortals, mortal life is all they have. If you who read this are of the humankind, it is like this. Mortals are to us as fruit flies are to humans, their lives are over in the blink of an eye, they have very little brainpower, are infinitesimal and like to fly around in circles. Unlike fruit flies, however, they provide the most entertaining shows as they take themselves so seriously. We never tire of watching the humans, their dramas and comedies, tragedies and musicals. Yes, humans, you heard that right. To us you are a combination of daytime television and the London theater district.

I anointed her eyes with the lily-like flower. "Sweet one," I whispered, "Wake in your own sweet time."

At that very instant in time:

_Bottom_

As soon as I saw them run I knew they were playing a trick on me. It was now full dark, freezing, and I was alone. Surely they would laugh at my fear, should I express any, so I set about to prove my lack of fear.

I began to sing. I sang a song my mother sang to me, once. It was a fun little song, and pleasantly distracting from the cold of the night. After only a few seconds I heard a voice from out of nowhere.

"What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?" spoke the voice.

At first I thought this simply confirmed that a joke were being played on me, when I realized that the voice was not that of a man attempting to be a woman, but of a woman.

I turned to face the voice, and found myself gazing upon a creature that surely is impossible. She had dark curling hair to her toes and golden skin. She was dressed in shimmering fabric with flowers, leaves and the occasional butterfly woven into them. Her arm was wound in a thread or vein or something that glowed an unreal blue and spanned from her shoulder to her elbow. She had wings. I blinked. Yes, it was true. _She had wings_.

She stretched her arms above her head as if she had just awoken, and wrapped herself around a nearby tree.

"I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. My ear is much enamored of thy note. As is my eye enthralled to thy shape." At this she ran her hand up the length of the tree and I gasped, as though she had run the hand up my very leg. She smiled at this, her eyes laughing.

She walked up to me. "And truth perforce doth move me, on the first view to say, to swear, I love thee!" She took my arm and began planting kisses up it. This was getting truly weird.

"Methinks, mistress, that you should have little reason for that. Though in truth, reason and love keep little company nowadays." I stammered nervously.

"Thou art as wise as though art beautiful." She replied.

"Not so neither!" I exclaimed, blushing.

I was dreaming. I was then sure of it.

Not half a bad dream.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hermia _

We had been walking for hours. I was not especially tired, but my mind had begun to drift and as such I was several strides behind Lysander.

"Fair love," his voice broke my thoughts, "You faint with wandering in the wood."

Hmm? Faint? Not as such, no. I am far stronger than he gives me credit.

"And to speak truth I have forgot our way."

Typical Lysander. He's a wonderful guy, but he's got less directional sense than a chipmunk.

"We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, and tarry for the comfort of the day."

I was all right with that plan. I smiled at him.

"Be it so, Lysander: find you a bed; for I upon this bank will rest my head." I waved vaguely in the direction of a flat, mossy, outcropping. He smiled and nodded, and thus contented I rolled myself up on my side and let my eyes close.

Moments later I felt the ground shift beneath me and opened my eyes again to find Lysander naked and inches from my face.

"One turf shall serve as pillow for us both; on heart, one bed to bosoms and one troth."

I am not ignorant. I knew what he wanted, what he was asking me to do. I wanted none of it. I wanted him clothed and away from me. It is not that I wished to remain "pure" until marriage, not particularly. It was that, despite what others said and despite my adoration of Lysander, I simply did not find him attractive, at all. Often he was tolerable in terms of looks, but naked he was quite simply revolting. I could hardly tell him that, though, so instead I blushed a bit, and said laughing, "But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy, lie further off; in human modesty, such separation as may well be said becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid, so far be distant; and, good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter till thy sweet life end!"

My impromptu speech felt awkward and halting to me, yet I hoped it would be enough to please Lysander. I also prayed it to be the most embarrassing conversation I'd ever have to make. As I later found, fate had other plans.

"Amen, amen, to that fair prayer say I; and then end life when I end loyalty! Here is my bed," he pointed to a waterlogged patch of ground some fifteen feet away and grimaced, "Sleep give thee all his rest!" his voice strained for false enthusiasm.

I acknowledged and bid him goodnight to fall into a restless slumber.

* * *

_Helena_

When I awoke, I noticed with some regret that I was, in fact, in the forest. It was also still dark, but the clouds had lifted some and the moon provided tolerable light. I sat up, my back stiff from sleeping on the ground, and thought. True, I had fucked up, possibly wrecked my friends, my love's, getaway. But, my mind clearer from rest, I remembered why I had thought it worth the risk. Why it is important for me to find her, speak to her, how much she means to me. Thus, given a new sense of purpose but no better sense of direction, I stood and continued walking through the woods, hoping with all my heart that I may stumble across my Hermia. No, I sharply reprimanded myself. She is not mine. She is her own and no others'.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's note:

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and super-special thanks to fledge, my only and faithful reviewer. I meant to dedicate the last two or three chapters to you, but I kept getting excited and forgetting to write this note. Sorry! Anyway, this one's primarily for you, and secondarily to anyone actually taking the time to read this.

* * *

_Robin Goodfellow_

The girl who does not love the boy awoke. I saw her, her aura, and knew the flower had taken. But she was lost, poor girl, walking in spirals in the moonlit wood, and I knew nothing would come of the potion lest she encounter her love. After some consideration I recalled a spell my master once taught me, on a midsummer's eve long ago, to lead a heart to the heart it longs to beat in sync with, the heart of her love.

In truth, it was that spell that brought me to Oberon.

He had been lonely, he said, and he wondered what would happen were the spell to be placed on one of the fey. We are not like humans, we do not attune to another through physical contact, for physically we are insubstantial. Physically we are as the wind, as eternal as time itself and as fleeting as any dream. For this reason, our hearts do not beat in sync, but our spirits do.

When Oberon cast this spell, in the time before the universe formed, _all_ the fey were drawn to him. His heart, it seemed, longed to be in sync with that of all our world. It was then, through that action, that he was determined king.

It was then, through that action, that I came into being. His spirit was not strong enough to connect with the sheer quantity of fey. It would have torn him apart. So the spell, for a powerful spell invariably takes up a life of its own, created me. My spirit is the connection between the king and every fey ever in existence. I am that connection, that love. My soul is made of power, heavy power, yet I am light. Light and jesting and witty, for every life must balance to remain intact. The lightness of my being balances the deepness of my soul. Only my master can see my soul, even I cannot. This has made him dark, the dark king with his dark fairies, opposite the queen and her light fairies, keeping the world in balance. But even the dark king needs a laugh, now and again, so I have purpose to serve as court jester. This purpose dooms me, for no matter the truth in what I say, I shall not be believed. Such is the curse of the fool.

But I fear I have journeyed far from this tale, and wish to return to it with haste. The girl. Helena, her name was. That is what the boy had called her.

With, literally, ( I promise you, I did not make this spell up) a snap of my fingers I froze her timeline. That being done I walked up to her and placed my hand atop her head, closing my eyes. I whispered in her ear the spell:

_There is truth in the old tales_

_and Power in naming _

_Name what you seek in order to find _

_Follow your heartbeat, your true self _

_Hear the call of the drum. _

_Feel all the earth pass through your soul _

_and succeed in the wish of your heart_.

_There is truth in the old tales_

_and Power in naming. _

As the spell ended I heard her heart complete the naming.

"Helena" it breathed.

At that I must confess I laughed aloud, if only from surprise. Helena? What complications have I just caused, in freeing Hermia's heart? Ah, well. Complications are more fun than that which the humans call Christmas.

This was going to be most, most intriguing indeed.

I unfroze the girl, and fled to alert my master.

Seconds later, my master asked me to verify certain points of information:

"Yes, master, thanks to yours truly there is about to be a confrontation between societal expectation and the nature of the heart right here in your very wood! Yes, master, these humans are tempered and self-important. Yes, the males have swords. Isn't it great."

My master said nothing to that, but in response simply bashed his head against a tree. Repeatedly. I laughed.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Author's Note_**: I'm back! Sorry it's been so long-my life sort of exploded around finals and has only now gotten back to something resembling sanity. Many thanks to everyone who favorited, added this story to a list, or reviewed. I probably would have forgotten this without you, and in doing so forgotten how much fun I've been having. I honestly have no idea when this will wrap up, but we're getting sort of close. Thanks again for reading!

* * *

_Demetrious_

At some point in the night, I tripped. This would have been entirely inconsequential and soon forgotten save that this time, instead of tripping over some manifestation of the forest, I tripped over Lysander. He half-woke with a mumbled groan, and as he did so, my temper snapped. How dare he take Hermia from me? How dare he sleep in peace as I stumble through this godforsaken forest after him all night long, unable to see three feet in front of me? He had infuriated me beyond bounds.

"Lysander," I growled, "Get up, knave, and draw your weapon!"

"What?" he yawned, rubbing his eyes and rising to his knees.

"Get. Up." I snapped, brandishing my sword near his face. The steel glinted in the moonlight.

"Demetrious? Demetrious, surely you wish not to do this." He rose to his feet. "Truly, dost thou not remember the summers and school days we spent together, what friends we were? You would not kill such good a friend as I!"

"Those days are long past, thy friendship long crossed and abused. I will hear none of it." I lunged half-blindly in the vague direction of his face.

His eyes grew wide with fear, reflecting again the pallor of the moon.

"I will not fight you, not here, not in this darkness," he whispered as he turned on his heel and fled into the trees.

My anger increased as I ran after him.

_Hermia_

I nearly heard some scuffle in the darkness; perhaps that is what woke me in the end. Or perhaps it was the dream I was having, a dream of happiness and heaven and….Helena? I was horribly confused, as I awoke. Why did I dream of Helena? And why did I feel, now, as though my heart were being pulled out of my chest, leading me onward with a sensation not quite painful but surely close?

"Lysander?" I called. There was no response. "LYSANDER." I shouted, still without a response. Clearly he was deeply asleep, or else fled, and either way not about to note my absence.

I sat up, slowly breathing out. There were decisions to make, but I would not make them. My heart had made them for me. Thus I rose and walked into the forest in some direction, I know not which, save that it was the direction my heart desired to go. I was determined, then, that I would follow my heart wherever it may lead and whoever may follow. I owed it this, at least. I owed myself honesty.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Authors Note: I realize I haven't updated in forever, and apologize for that, though surely you've all long given up by now. Reading back through this fic I find it needs some serious re-doing, but I can't very well re-do it until it's done the first time. Perhaps I will forget again, so don't get your hopes up, but for now the chapter this entire story was leading up to. Please enjoy, and thank you. **  
_

_Helena_

At some point in the night Helena and I collided. I normally use this phrase to mean we happened upon each other, but normally it is not four in the morning and we are not in a pitch-dark forest, so in this case by collided I mean collided-like-the-asteroid-that-formed-the-Yucatan –peninsula collided.

In an attempt to re-orient ourselves we were seated some three feet or so away from each other. I knew this was my chance, my only chance, to tell her what had weighed on my mind this past year, especially these past weeks.

Furthermore, it was my last chance to fulfill my duty, the childhood promise I had given her lying in a similar grove. We must have been eight or so, and we swore our unending honesty to each other.

Neither of us could possibly have predicted that promise leading us here. Such are the threads of fate.

"Hermia?" I whispered. My heart pounded in my chest and threatened to overwhelm my lungs.

"Helena! Oh, thank god it's you. Lysander seems to have run off somewhere and I've been wondering around…"

"Hermia, I….I…um." My heart may be brave but it seems I have the mouth of a coward.

She laughed, a bubbling noise from within her throat that stirred a fizzy bubbling within my stomach, like that champagne we stole once.

"Why so nervous?" She teased, moving to my side and wrapping an arm around my midsection. I could faintly discern her face, tilted upward toward mine, a smile ghosting behind her eyes. Then the moon moved out from behind a cloud or a tree or something, or maybe God was just sending me a signal, because all of a sudden I could see her clearly, in all her beauty.

"I love you." I finally gasped.

This was a phrase we exchanged often enough in our friendship, and I mentally kicked myself, thinking she would misinterpret me, that she wouldn't understand.

She must have seen something in my face, or heard some underlying tone in my words, because after a second she leaned upward just slightly, bringing our foreheads together.

I could barely breathe.

Then our noses touched, the barest of nuzzles,

And finally she gently slid her lips against mine.

I couldn't tell, then, if the world had stopped spinning or begun to move at last

* * *

_Hermia_

When she told me she loved me a lens was dropped over the world, and just like a kid getting glasses for the first time, the universe shifted into clarity. I could finally see everything right in front of me, which had been there for so long, but I had ignored it, unable to see the details and unwilling to stress my eyes to do so.

But now it required no effort.

I promised to follow my heart, and here is where it lead me, to Helena's arms.

I leaned up to kiss her, and any lingering doubts slipped away.

We fell apart with a soft sigh. My cheeks were on fire, my heart was beating frantically in my chest.

Her hand reached to cup my face and I leaned in to her, my own hand curling around her wrist.

"What about Lysander?" She said with a swallow.

"A good friend, a frightful concept as anything more. I was using him as a viable escape. And he was so good to me, but…it wasn't love, I don't think. He never…" I trailed off.

"Never what?"

"Never made me dream of seemingly impossibilities. Never made my heart leap as it is now. Never kissed me so sweetly the world faded away until all that was left were the sensations of lips against mine and emotions ripping through my brain."

"Your father?"

"I was running away anyway." At this her eyes lit up.

"Will you…run away with me?" She had just realized the possibility, and it made her giddy with excitement.

My brain said no, it wasn't possible and wasn't right. But I was listening to my heart that night, and my heart screamed yes.

"Of course." Her face assumed the goofy grin of a school girl, and aware that I probably sported a similar expression I erased hers the only way I could think of.

I kissed her again.

This time, she deepened it, moving her tongue softly against the curve of my lips and then slightly in to my open mouth, and I moaned, just slightly.

We were so lost in each other we were legitimately oblivious to our surroundings.

In retrospect, perhaps that was unwise.


End file.
